


Heavy Steps

by Keter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keter/pseuds/Keter
Summary: [drabble] we all make mistakes





	

**Author's Note:**

> based on a series of ideas and images i had when i woke up today

His footsteps were heavy with everything that was weighing on his mind right now. Boots clunking angrily against the floor like measured hammers to the skull -- was it anger? In the heat of the moment, he could lie to himself like that. It was easy to do; the symptoms were so similar. His heart was racing, his chest constricted and pained; beneath his gloves, his hands were probably clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white as bone. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire, and he could hear his pulse in his head. It was coming too quickly, making him vaguely lightheaded. In a brief moment of clarity, he slowed his movements nearly to a stop and _breathed._ He couldn’t continue like this. He just needed a few seconds. He--

“Commander Reyes. You need to keep moving.”

The harsh voice over his comm system jolted the fleeting lucidity from his system. He only growled in reply over the open channel and resumed storming around the house, knocking a few things off of shelves and counters when he passed them. It didn’t make him feel any better. Throwing any measure of tantrum never usually did. Finishing the job did. But this time… he wasn’t so sure. He clenched his jaw when he heard the click of a private line open on his comms, bracing for whatever reprimand was coming this time.

“Gabriel.”

Amélie.

“Don’t let them get to you.”

Her voice was familiar and soft, and he felt it settle around his shoulders like a warm arm. He relaxed, though only slightly, letting the arm stay.

“Easier said than done,” he rumbled, frustration obvious in his voice and in the way he flung open a hallway closet, shotguns held up at point blank range to the unwitting foreheads of towels and toiletries. ...Not what he was looking for. But there was only so much ground he had left to cover in this house. He had to hurry.

“I know.” Her voice was as patient as ever, and that continued to help soothe him. Amélie was always patient. That was what made her good at her job, after all. She could wait an eternity, her scope hungry for the broken, panicked wills of fleeing men. They would always make that mistake; she would always make that shot. “But you must try.”

His gaze was now set on the closed door at the end of this hallway as he slammed the closet door shut and headed down the hall. He had looked over the floor plans of this building what seemed like a thousand times; he knew the layout precisely, knew that this was the last place left to look. The floor plans. That was how he knew, of course. Of course.

He swung the door open. A cursory look around -- empty. Windows closed. Nothing under the bed except socks. Nothing in the bedroom closet except for hangers hung completely still. Nothing. Nothing. He could hear Amélie talking in the background, trying to keep him level, but he wasn’t really listening to her anymore.

Of course their target wouldn’t just be sitting in here waiting for them. But, _still…!_ _Still, what?_ He shook his head. He wasn’t being reasonable. He couldn’t keep a clear head and he hated himself for it. Get the job done. Get the job done.

As he was pacing feverishly around the room looking for clues, his boots thumping on the hardwood, he was brought to an abrupt halt when he heard something _different_ about a particular footstep _._ He knelt down to examine the floor and cursed when he realized what he was looking at.

It was so vague, so close to invisible. A series of seams on the floor that could have easily been mistaken for the way the hardwood was cut. But the way his boot had sounded hollowly against the floor there -- there was no doubt.

“Trapdoor cut into the bedroom floor,” he blurted quickly into his comms.

“ _What?!_ ” That coarse, impatient voice again. “Get in there! Now!”

He fumbled with his belt, pulling out a knife and getting ready to stab it into the trapdoor’s panel to pry it open. Before he could plunge his arm down, he heard something that gave him pause. It was from Amélie’s line. An inhale. Innocuous. Could have been nothing. But it wasn’t.

“Gabriel,” he heard her whisper.

“No,” he breathed, his arm frozen mid-swing.

“ _I_ _am so sorry,”_ she responded, her voice quiet and desolate. He knew she meant it. He was sorry, too.

There was the stifled sound of a gunshot outside. Her gun. A pained outcry from another familiar voice, a young one. The layered shouting of other units being ordered onto the site for the arrest -- _Target down_. A stiff, obligatory congratulations directed towards the commander, the sniper -- _Target is no longer moving but may still be armed. Proceed with caution_.

And then Amélie again, her quiet voice somehow finding him through all the noise.

“His knee, Gabriel. I hit his knee.”

His mouth was so dry. Were her words supposed to be comforting? “He’d be better off dead.”

“You’re projecting again,” she said, sadly.

He was silent as another voice connected and rang in his ear on the open channel.

“Target neutralized. I repeat, target neutralized. Target is unarmed and being taken into arrest now. We’ll have him back in fifteen.”

He got to his feet and went to the window, pushing the curtains aside to get a better look at the flashing lights and swarming units outside. A group of geared-up operatives was escorting a limping young man into an armored car. Even now, he could recognize that face, even though its usual easy smile was replaced by a hard, stony expression. The expression of a martyr that knew he was being led to the crucifix.

  
It hurt. It hurt to see. So he stopped looking.

**Author's Note:**

> what if mccree was going to try to expose blackwatch early. what if he was going to leak sensitive information or evidence. what if he had to be hunted down


End file.
